Off Guard
by Cola Karmon
Summary: Several nights of unexpected occurrences between two unsuspecting wizards. A story about falling in love in silly ways.  Warnings for language, sexual references and slash.  Switches perspectives.
1. Draco: Interruption

AN: Again, since I have no beta readers at the moment, this is pretty awful. But I hope you'll bear with me and see it through, because it'll be funny along the way and fluffy at the end. Happy reading.

Edit 12/14/11: Chapter updated with beautifulness. Many, many, **many** thanks to the lovely Digitallace for her selfless beta work on my little abomination of a story here. Having her edit my stories is a dream come true. You, Ma'am, are a godsend.

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><p>I didn't care for dubstep. In fact, I still don't, even though it's more popular now than it was back then. But it flooded every club in London, so it wasn't easy to escape. Particularly when I was out every weekend at a different club, wondering if any place in town wasn't throbbing with ear-ringing bass and oddly smashed sound clips. It always felt shoved together in some haphazard construction of 'music.' I was disappointed, though.<p>

At first, I just kept off the dance floor. I figured if I boycotted the genre, eventually they'd eventually start playing something worth grinding to. But apparently, the lack of my sweet arse on the floor wasn't cause enough to change the DJ's lineup. That's what I got for only attending Muggle clubs. I couldn't take the risk of dallying about in the Wizarding World. And, dammit, I needed my weekly outing lest someone face the wrath of my world-renowned conniption fits. Last person on the wrong end of one of those was Marcus Eorwick and he went home with his nose on his scrotum at the conclusion of that little outburst.

That evening was the last one I spent in silent protest. Just sitting at the bar and sucking on manhattans wasn't doing anything for my weekend catharsis. It had been a tough week. I was faced with a particularly bristling reminder from Mother that if I skived off another dinner party she would have to have words with me in person. Those weren't as easy to overlook as her letters were. Then there was frustrating delay of my most recent case (protecting my client from a Mrs. Juliet Hurthen and her wicked outcry against their Comatose Concoction—which did exactly as it warranted—demanding retribution for the fact that her husband wouldn't wake up when she screamed at him at ridiculous hours of the morning). And then the looming promise of my union to the young Astoria Greengrass, which was inevitably planned to be announced at our engagement party next spring.

All I knew was that Muggle booze was only going to get me so far. If I wanted to forget about all of it, I was going to need the help of a nameless, leather-wrapped cock rubbing against my arse to the pumping heatbeat of a sweaty, glittering nightclub.

You couldn't put a price on that kind of ecstasy.

So I put down my empty martini glass with my decision to get over my disdain of dubstep, since my desire for dick rather outweighed it, and pushed away from the bar, heading for the dance floor. I was in a place called Rehab that night. A Muggle gay club, one of my favorites because no one in my circles knew anything about it but it attracted some of the most beautiful men I've ever had the pleasure of writhing against. My club buddy had recommended the place to me. Never knew the bloke's name, but we often ran into each other on my weekend excursions. He had these nice green eyes, which is honestly the only thing I can remember about him now. Anyway, I went there at his suggestion since I always appreciated a broadening of my spectrum. And it became new favorite spot.

I easily made my way to the very center of the tangling bodies and settled right into my comfortable routine of rocking my hips with my hands in the air. No one had a face when I was dancing; I kept my eyes closed. But I liked feeling the smooth, hard heat of bodies pressed up against me and the wet whispers of onlookers in my ears when they complimented me on how lovely I was. But their reasons, their existences and lives outside of that didn't matter to me. My weekends were about me getting the love and attention I wanted, in the only way that made the endorphins stretch for hours. I hadn't even been out there for a minute and I already had someone sliding their fingers around my hips. I smiled and rolled my spine to slide my arse against him, happily gratified to feel the welcome rub of denim. His chest settled against my shoulders, much like how he easily matched the pattern of my grinding hips and I felt the tickle of damp lips against my earlobe. I forgot everything in that moment. It was so easy. I didn't have to think about anyone. Not my parents, my peers or anyone. They were all swallowed in the sweet smog of dry ice and their voices were lost in the never-ending rumble of electronic beats. In that moment, I was a god, being worshiped by the hands of a lovely nobody.

My nobody chuckled in my ear.

"You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself," he said to me. I kept smiling, a laugh humming through my throat.

"I certainly am." Hopefully, I thought, this one didn't want to actually have a conversation. If he could just stick to bumping his crotch against me and panting obscenities into my ears, this could work out like I wanted it to.

"Never pegged you to indulge in the Muggle club scene, Malfoy." That made me freeze, my eyes snapping open. I was back in hell again, with only the illusion of paradise around me. I swung around to look my captor in the face and was stunned into further silence. A silence he filled by saying, with a wicked smirk that I'd never seen on him before, "I _did_ peg you for a poufter, though. Looks like Ron owes me a galleon on that one."

Harry fucking Potter—with his hands still on my hips, fingers underneath the silky, white cotton mesh of my shirt, his digits just so gentle against my bare skin—was positively glowing with his prize. He'd caught me, and he knew it. I had lost my composure so harsh and swiftly that it took me a moment to gather myself up again. But in that moment, I had enough sense to snag his wrists away from me and drag him off the floor and outside. I might've imagined him laughing behind me, but I was too busy formulating my interrogation to snap at him for it.

In the back alley behind the club, I slammed the thick metal door after flinging his arms away from me. Then, with my back straight and chin lifted, the generations-old Malfoy sneer on my lips, I spat at him.

"Out with it, Potter," I growled, steadily drawing my wand from where I kept it in my sleeve. "Go ahead. Give me your best excuse as to why I shouldn't hex your bollocks to your face right now and then Obliviate your brains to last Tuesday." Even when I pointed my wand in his direction, his expression didn't change. He just relaxed against the soggy brick wall behind him, sliding his hands into shallow pockets as he leered at me, all too amused. I clenched my teeth together in an effort to keep myself from jinxing him right then.

"Oh come on, Malfoy," he said, shrugging a bit. "We're at a Muggle club. Do you think I came here to find dirt on wizards I haven't seen in…." He paused and gave me a once-over. "Merlin, it's been five years, hasn't it?" The smile was a bit less twisted now and I subconsciously relaxed at the sudden shift in his tone.

Harry Potter had grown. Only by a few inches, but he was definitely taller than the last time I'd seen him. That was shortly after the final battle. He had been there at my family's trial, offering his testimony to keep us all out of Azkaban and in the proper social standing. I hadn't talked to him then, but shortly afterward my wand was owled to me with a note. It was penned in an untidy scrawl: a thank-you for letting him use it to defeat the Dark Lord. It was the same wand that I was steadily lowering, a bit more concerned with giving him a returning appraisal.

He still had the same unruly black hair that hid the scar on his forehead. The stupid looking specs had been replaced by these sleek-silver rimmed glasses, only making the shocking green eyes in his head stand out just the more. I was stuck there, in his penetrating gaze, for a moment, but the twitch of his thin-lipped smile brought me out of it.

Potter wore a button-down black shirt with the sleeves rolled up around his elbows, dark denims and a pair of black dragonhide boots. In the hazed, coppery glow of the street lamps, his sunned skin radiated, accented by a light sheen of sweat. My eyebrow quirked without my realizing, obviously willing to announce my approval of the Golden Boy's ensemble. Dear Merlin, he was looking fit.

"You mean to tell me," I began, folding my arms across my chest as I peered along at him, "that the Ministry's favorite Auror, posterboy for all that is righteous and upstanding, goes hopping gay bars to get his jollies? You're bent, then?"

Potter shrugged again, the grin on his stupid face more than happy to speak for him. He spoke anyway. "It's easy to keep a secret from the Wizarding world when you only let it out where no one knows your face." He winked. I felt the temperature shift; my cheeks became a bit hot.

I took a breath and shifted a bit where I stood before looking back into his eyes once again. It was a bit of a dangerous move, I realized too late, since those emerald orbs had some unearthly magic about them. Nothing on this planet could possibly be that green.

"So then," I began, "are you offering to keep my secret on the condition that I keep yours?" Either way, I wasn't worried. Even if he didn't value his arse enough to cover mine, I could Obliviate him if I needed. I was pretty decent at memory charms, all I need was him to turn his back and it'd be over in a second. Maybe Potter could guess at my plan—his eyes narrowed a bit—but he remained cordial.

"I gain nothing from disclosing whatever indulgent tendencies you have, Malfoy," he said. "But, yes, I'm going to keep your secret. It certainly would be nice if you'd offer the same courtesy." Potter's accompanying smile was a bit bitter. But, honestly, he had nothing to fear by me. Sure, I might've tossed around the idea of going straight to the press. I had no real motive for it, though.

Gone was the petty childhood rivalry, so I needed no vengeance. I might've been able to make a pretty knut off that particular bit of information. But I was rolling in it to begin with. Sharing would do nothing for my social standing; we were both at risk since I would have to explain what I was doing slumming around in a Muggle gay bar to see him there in the first place. And, no, I had no answer to that question for anyone in the Wizarding world.

I waved my hand dismissively. "Your orientation's of no interest to me, Potter, crooked or otherwise." I stowed my wand for good measure to communicate I meant no harm. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home. I've had enough for tonight. Good evening."

I turned then, shaking my head a bit as I exited the alleyway.

"Malfoy!"

I turned just a bit as the sound of my name hit my ears.

"Maybe I'll see you around sometime," Potter called from behind me. I didn't see his face, but I could hear a smile in his voice. My first reaction was to Disapparate right then and resolutely avoid every club in the West End. But then I merely sighed and lifted my hand in admonishment.

"Indeed," I said. And then I did go home.

I had a lovely townhouse in North Kensington, one that felt like more of a home to me than the Manor ever had been. I walked through its front door after Apparating to the porch and shut it behind me. I didn't bother turning on the lights as I wandered up the stairs, peeling clothes off as I went. Normally, I made an effort to diligently keep things tidy, but my life was stumbling forward faster than my brain could keep up with.

I crashed into my bed with a groan and pulled my duvet up around my shoulders, closing my eyes to try and fill my mind with darkness. I couldn't rid myself of a haunting shade of green, though. It lingered with me all through my dreams.

-_To Be Continued_-


	2. Draco: Invitation

AN: Here's the next bit. Thanks again to Digitallace for being a most love-worthy beta. And thank you to all of the people who are watching this little tale unfold. I hope you appreciate what I have for you next.

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><p>I sat at my table with my head cradled against my palm as I inhaled the bergamot-scented steam that curled lazily up from my mug of earl grey. I slept roughly four hours before jerking awake after a dream—one that vanished just as I regained consciousness—jolted me back to the world of the living. Though I tried to get back to sleep again, I was thwarted, my thoughts swarming with memories of the night before. So I absolved myself to get up and go about my day,maybe see if I could manage a nap later in the afternoon. But somehow, just sitting at my table and trying to live my normal Sunday morning life was proving to be difficult.<p>

Three things had combined to put me in this unfit state of mind. First was Potter's sudden reappearance back into my life. The boy—well , no, he was a man now, an Auror, even—who I hadn't even thought about for half a decade. Sure, his face was in the Prophet all the time, but I never lingered on the headlines. Even though Lovegood had been doing a decent job with keeping the papers on truth and not propaganda, that rag never did strike my fancy.

After the trial, I more or less considered Potter's role in my life to be over. He was just the one who once upon a time was at my opposite end. The person my eventual children would ask me about and I'd just regurgitate back to them that whole savior bit. Lo and behold, his green eyes returned to my life. Just when I thought I'd never have them following me ever again.

If that wasn't bad enough, second on my list was that the bloody Savior of the Wizarding world was gay. A pouf. Bent as a coat hanger. That fact alone was enough to rattle my world a bit. Surely, though I'd never really given the man much thought, I always knew, like everyone else on the bloody planet, that he'd be one of _those_ men. The ones with their beautiful trophy housewife, perfect 2.5 children, a Crup and a lovely home in the country with a white picket fence. But, no. No, this bloke was in Rehab, at the center of the dance floor with nothing but cock to push against him and looking like he enjoyed every second of it.

And that was the other thing. Just thinking about it made the vase on my table shatter when my magic flared out at the surge of muddled emotion that rushed through me. I sighed, flicking my wand with a hushed, "_Reparo_," before dissecting the facts to view them more objectively.

Potter had noticed me there at Rehab. I don't doubt that I probably even pushed past him, uncaring as I sought to stand in the middle of that throbbing mess of men. He could've tapped me on the shoulder. Could've stepped in front of me and said something to get my eyes to open. He could've even jabbed his wand at me and growled a threat in my direction (and I _really_ tried hard not to go much further with that particular image). But he'd done none of that.

With a shiver, I recalled the gentleness of his fingers as they smoothed over my hip bones, under my shirt and held me. The warmth of his chest leaning against my damp shoulders. How comfortable my arse felt cradled in the hold of his hips.

I hissed in pain as I accidentally spilled tea on myself, missing my lips by several inches. So much for being objective….

The point was that out of all the possible reactions that I could've evoked from old Scarhead, why in the world did he find the inclination to dance with me at the top of his list? And even if it wasn't the topper, why was it the one he chose? In retrospect, I figured that to be the last thing on his mind upon noticing my presence in his vicinity.

I cleaned up what little mess I made and slumped back in my chair with a sigh, rubbing my eyes with weary fingers. Outside the rain came down and drizzled a low whisper along the roof, muttering about the drain pipes and shuffling amongst the greenery of my garden. Exhaustion lulled through me, such that not even the strongest cup of earl grey could rouse me from it. And though my body wanted so to give into the lullaby of the rain, my thoughts wouldn't leave me be.

I couldn't think about Potter anymore. My interaction with him lasted a bare ten minutes at best. If such a short amount of time in his presence was enough to set my nerves off for hours then there couldn't have been anything good about it. I shook my head and got to my feet, trudging up the stairs to my study.

The walnut cabinet on the back wall, the one furthest from the window, held my Pensieve. I pulled it out and proceeded to pluck every memory of the night before away from myself, depositing them in the swirling silver mass below. I didn't want to think about these things, already rather resolute in my decision that my encounter with Potter brought more distress to me than I was willing to deal with. Maybe one day I'd have the energy to mull over that odd instance. But not now, I told myself, flicking the last unwanted thought away. Not when I needed to sleep.

To hell with holding out for a nap. I went back to bed.

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><p>Monday I had lunch with Blaise. The man wasn't the most pleasant company for more sociable occasions but he was a damn good business partner. But that didn't matter when he was sitting across from me going on about how he didn't appreciate Theodore Nott's decision to invest his recently inherited millions into a foreign potion research conglomerate.<p>

"What the hell is he thinking? If he wanted someone to make sure he got his untraceable date-rape formula perfected I have plenty of people nearby that could've made the job a lot easier." Blaise shook his head disdainfully and finished off the last of his lobster bisque.

"Face it," I said, dusting my hands off after swallowing the last bit of my bruschetta, "he put his coins out of the country so it'd be harder to pin him for dallying about in Dark Arts. No need to let yourself be blind-sighted to his obvious plot just because you're not getting the leftovers of his investment."

"You wound me, Draco," Blaise tutted. "I've no issue with Nott in matters of his money. Matter of fact, as soon as the first victim of his less than legal ameliorations comes our way, I'm snatching her _and_ all of his money up from her impending lawsuit. Patience pays." I rolled my eyes. Unpleasant company as he may be, the man did know how to keep things interesting, that was for sure.

We dined at one of my favorite lunch stops, a lovely bistro called _Au Péché Mignon_, sitting outside under the pale blue awning of an ivy-surrounded courtyard. The cold front from the day before had blown over, leaving a gentle grey sky and a cool breeze. I relaxed against the dark twists of wrought iron of the chair I was sitting in. I closed my eyes for a moment and heaved a small sigh. My momentary zen was broken, however, with Blaise's next comment.

"Did you know that the Ministry's holding a costume gala this Hallow's? Apparently, they're treating it as some charity fundraiser to pull money together for families of the war casualties. A bit belated if you ask me. But then again, they like any excuse to trot out their Golden Boy, don't they?"

Something in my face twitched. "Potter? What's he got to do with it?"

"As far as I know, it's all in his honor. Something about the anniversary of his parents' death being on All Hallow's. Seemed like a sober enough occasion to bring out the frivolities and money-scroungers." Blaise shrugged and took a sip from his wineglass.

"Didn't know Potter was the type to play on the populace's groveling towards him," I commented, running my fingers through my hair in an absent gesture. When I withdrew my hand, I noticed a tiny blue shard of glitter sticking to my palm. My brow furrowed and I wordlessly banished it. Needed to be a bit more careful….

"Well, you can question him about it yourself," Blaise said, reaching into his coat pocket to produce an ivory envelope, which he handed to me. Of course, it was an invitation to said gala, addressed to me personally. I scanned through it as Blaise continued on. "You're welcome for that. It's only because of my amazing wooing skills that I managed to land us those." I scoffed. "Oh, please, you've been aching for a ball since May, I know it. Ever since you went running off to shag that pretty Swedish lad at your mum's last social."

"Blaise!" I nearly crumpled the invitation at the unbridled horror that shocked through me. He knew? He knew!

"Relax, Draco, no one else knows," he placated me, looking calm and smooth as ever. "It doesn't matter to me what you do with your private life, but next time make sure you put better wards on the doors, alright mate?" I groaned, shaking my head as I tried to hold down the still bubbling rush of adrenaline in my blood. So Blaise found out. That was unfortunate. But not as awful as it could've been had anyone else seen. At least I knew I could trust him to keep the secret. Blaise was nothing if not reliable to those he trusted his money with. As his business partner that put me right up next to the goblin that kept his vaults locked.

Trying to shove the unsteadiness of my heart from my mind, I looked back to the invitation, deciding that if I deliberately went over every word, by the end of it, I'd have my pulse back to something civil. The translucent parchment, marbled in veins of cream and ivory, had been elegantly scripted with dark green ink in looping curls. As invitations were, it was very pretty to look at.

_Draco Lucius Malfoy,_ it said, _ -You are cordially invited to attend the Ministry of Magic's All Hallow's Eve Masquerade Gala. Please RSVP upon your reception of the invitation via owl to Elora Soloane of the Recovery and Revival Committee. October the Thirty-First, Two Thousand and Two, Six o'clock PM until Midnight._

And though that was the end of the invitation, my heart had not settled. Tacked haphazardly to this parchment was an enchanted scribble in red writing. It shimmered into existence as soon as I finished reading the date and time.

_Malfoy, it would be nice to see your face at the ball. Merlin knows I could do with someone who doesn't treat me like the sun shines out of my arse. Think you're up for it? I'll toss in a bottle of Odgen's for your trouble. –Harry Potter_

"What are you grinning about, then?"

I looked up, startled, finding myself right in the scrutinizing and mildly amused curiosity of Blaise Zabini. I raised an eyebrow. Yes, I could feel the smile on my face. It started slipping as I remembered that Potter ruined my perfect sleep schedule but a day earlier, forcing me to expel my own thoughts just to escape them. Mind wrecker.

"Don't worry, I've already RSVP'd for you. Pansy will be so happy to see you; it'll be excellent."

Honestly, though, if Potter was a mind wrecker, Blaise was a life wrecker. I managed to refrain from exclaiming expletives at him, or throwing anything into his face, but I was picturing doing both quite vividly. He just smirked back at me, apparently comfortable in the knowledge that though I wouldn't throw a tantrum here, he would definitely feel the sting of my vengeance.

"It certainly shall. Thanks for lunch." I sneered at him and got to my feet, tucking the invitation into my jacket. I left without a backwards glance, regaining my smile when I heard his indignant protest. He hadn't planned on treating me, but well, that's what he got for being a life wrecker. Harry Potter would get his in time. Three weeks time, if I played my cards right.

Already, as I walked along the sidewalk to get to the Apparition point, I was pulling together the skeleton for my first maneuver. Something involving a slip of Veritaserum with Potter's name on it. I didn't know what he was playing at, but it wouldn't be hard to figure it out. Slytherin wiles came in such handy. It had been so long since I'd stretched those skills for my own benefit, outside of the confines of legal contracts and fine print.

I'd get to play with this one. Merlin be damned if I couldn't turn this on its heel and come out one step ahead of Potter. I started smiling again. Maybe a rekindling of the old rivalry could prove interesting. At the very least I'd get to dress up and snag free booze. I could see a changeup of my weekend routine in my future.


	3. Draco: Intention

AN: I hope all my readers had a lovely holiday. I'm ringing in the new year with a new chapter. So, happy new year. Thanks again go to Digitallace for the beta work. And I'd like to say that I'm happy to have garnered such positive reactions from you.

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><p>What I never really planned on was the fact that my life would suddenly crash around me and I'd have time for nothing else but trying to scramble all the pieces back together. Between trying to keep my clients protected from that bitching housewife and having to take on a new case at the same time, I was spending most of my free time keeping my head above water. I loved my job, it kept me preoccupied, but it was also taking up all the time I wanted to work out my figure-out-what-the-hell-Harry-Potter-wants-with-me plan.<p>

So by the time I had closed both cases and was ready to do some personal examination, it was October twenty-ninth and I didn't even have a costume. I griped to Blaise about it. He just smiled smoothly as I blamed him for letting me forget on purpose. Of course, I didn't mean it. It was my own damn fault for letting my thoughts become so muddled by my situation that I didn't remember how to take care of my responsibilities. But Blaise was there and he wasn't regretful enough about RSVPing without my permission yet.

I went home and immediately set about making arrangements for my costume. Of course, it was going to cost a little extra to get something done in such a short window of time, but that's where being wealthy came in handy. I could afford to be a bit scatterbrained sometimes. As long as I kept it out of the public eye.

After hanging my coat up in the hall closet, I went right to the fireplace and tossed a handful of floo powder into the flames. "Tabitha Pocket: Couturiere." The fire tossed about in green tongues and Tabitha's face appeared.

"Draco?" Her little pixie face grinned her precious smile and I couldn't help but smile back. "Draco, my love, come through!" I chuckled a bit but ducked into the fireplace and through to the sunlit studio. I dusted the soot from my shirt just in time to catch the tiny woman as she flew into my arms.

"Oh, it's so good to see you!" Tabitha cried into my stomach and I felt myself laughing as my arms wrapped around her. "Why aren't you in my life more often, you horrible man!"

"It's not my fault that you can never find the time to come see me," I said to her. It earned me a playful smack on the arm and a chiming shower of giggles. Say what you want about my preferences, but Tabitha was by far the most adorable woman I'd ever met. The girl was the only daughter of one of my mother's friends. I had dabbled in entrepreneurial pursuits before settling in business with Blaise and the firm. Tabitha's boutique was my most successful investment and she herself was my favorite client. Mostly because she had impeccable fashion sense and called me perfect, but she also had a cleverly disguised cunning in that babydoll stature of hers.

"So what's new then?" she asked as she pulled away from me, her honey-brown eyes glowing with the reflection of her candy-sweet smile.

"I have a job I need you to take care of immediately," I told her. She furrowed her brow, the glitter of her joy fading into a bubbling rage. On her it just looked cute, though. Like a child pouting. I tried not to laugh. "Yeah, I knew you'd be mad at me."

"Draco Malfoy, is this for the Ministry Masquerade? You great buffoon, why didn't you tell me you had an invitation?" She shook her head, her black curls bouncing. "Lucky for you I'm obsessed with your Adonis body—"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome—and I've already put something together since I couldn't stifle the creative inspiration that suddenly struck me through after a lovely fantasy I had of you a few nights ago. You're welcome again."

"Oh, Tabitha," I sighed, kissing her face. "Darling, I owe you a trip to Paris."

"Damn right, you do," she giggled. She ducked into a small nook offside and returned with a garment bag that she draped across my arms. "Go put this on and come back so I can make sure that it's perfect. It already is, but I need to see it on you to be sure."

"Of course, darling."

Tabitha apparently had fantasies of me as Schutzstaffel officer. Which was amusing, if not mildly disturbing. I didn't care much for the history of Muggles, but I was pretty sure that I was garbed in something that many would construe to be offensive. I couldn't find myself caring though; I looked amazing in that black uniform. I paid her double for it and left in the confidence that I was a perfect Adonis: she always told me so. I was always happy to hear it.

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><p>Blaise had suggested that we go together. And I think that under the circumstances of my willingness to attend in the first place, I would've been fine with that arrangement. But that was not the case, so I just told him that he could show up alone and I'd see him there. The problem was that I'd circled the entire building—a once-upon-a-time mansion of a pureblood widow who donated it to the War Relief effort—and had not seen hide nor hair of the man.<p>

By the time nine o'clock was pulling around and the speech making had once again descended into dancing and other frivolity, I gave up entirely. Obviously, he had managed to locate whatever prey he'd decided to lure into the Blaise Zabini Kingdom of the Eternal Erection. It was an inevitable thing; I suppose it was presumptuous of me to assume that he'd keep his trousers on long enough to at least say hello to me, even if I _did_ blow him off.

So I was alone at an empty table in the back corner of the ballroom when a lovely young woman dressed as a water nymph approached and sat next to me.

"Such a lonely little soldier," she said and I smiled when I recognized this faerie's voice. "Might I tempt you from your solitude with a song?"

"Pansy, dear." I leaned over and kissed her cheek as she clasped both my hands. "You're looking ravishing as always." The sweet lady preened under my praise and I smiled at her affectionately. She was my little sister and I so enjoyed just spoiling her whenever I could.

"You haven't seen Blaise about?" she asked as she passed a glass of champagne to me. I rolled my eyes and then took a sip.

"Not at all, to be perfectly honest."

"Well, I have. He wanted to me to tell you that he's leaving early and sorry that he didn't see you." A rather derisive scoff escaped my lips, amplified by the amount of alcohol I'd already consumed—the glass Pansy handed me was my second, but had been intermittently plied by a few fingers of whiskey just to take the edge off my fury. Though I was steadily starting to lean in the opposite direction with this new bit of information.

"Of course he did. And tell me," I snapped, "tell me about the one who was clinging to his arm when he said so."

"Oh come now, Draco," Pansy chided, leaning over to rub my back with a shimmering, bluish hand. "No need to be so bitter. In fact, Blaise seemed to be under the impression that you'd be thrilled at the news."

"Not after trying to find the git for the past hour." I crossed one leg over the other and folded my arms over my chest after draining the remains in my glass.

"Don't pout," Pansy said. She kissed my temple. "Go out and actually enjoy yourself. No need to be jealous of Blaise when you know very well that you could be nabbing a sweet someone to play with yourself."

I chuckled.

"Well, thank you, dear, for putting up with me," I said, nudging her cheek. "And I think I just might do as you suggest. But, I fear I have some business to attend to before then." I kissed her goodbye and excused myself with a promise to come see her before I left.

I departed the ballroom with the intention of locating a man who owed me an explanation and a bottle of Firewhiskey.

I was under the impression that finding Potter would've been simple. As the belle of the ball, so to speak, I expected him to be trailed by the inevitable crowd of ravenous paparazzi and star-struck witches. Though perhaps I should've looked for a pied-piper trail of wizards instead. It didn't really matter; after fifteen minutes of crowd-scouring, I still hadn't managed to come across the man.

It wasn't until I excused myself from the population entirely that I found him. I had ducked from the mansion to retreat into the gardens and hopefully soothe my frustration among the foliage. The chilling breezes of late October were eased in the courtyards with warming charms and stasis spells. I could feel the stretch of magic as I passed through the gap in a circle of hedges to enter. The enchantments had been laid to maintain a year-round Eden. But the skies were clear as glass and a million stars canopied over me like a shelter for my troubled thoughts.

"Malfoy?"

Not a very secure shelter, apparently. I had only taken a few steps into the gardens, just where I was sure no one could easily spot me from the hub of frivolity. But Potter was a ways further within, sitting on a marble bench with his mask in his lap. There was this funny grin on his face as he looked at me. It made him look like he was a schoolboy idiot again.

"I thought the point of a masquerade ball was to keep your identity a secret," I said, making no move other than to return to my stargazing. It didn't feel as restful now that I had those emeralds drilling into my head.

"It doesn't seem like _you've_ made great effort to uphold the tradition yourself." I turned to him, feeling indignant.

"How so?"

"I recognized you in an instant," Potter said, smirking. "Maybe you should've worn a hat; keep that characteristic Malfoy-blond head of yours from making you stand out."

"Absolutely not," I disagreed. "I'm quite proud of my genetic endowments and have no desire to keep to any of them hidden."

Potter snorted just as I realized the innuendo I just let slip without thinking. Clumsy of me; I should've turned down that last glass of champagne. Quickly, I spoke up to prevent Potter from dragging my mishap out any further.

"Explain something to me, why don't you?" I said, walking a bit nearer but keeping my eyes focused on the magnolia tree the man was sitting beneath, abundant with large, white blossoms. "I'm curious to know what factors contributed to result in our world's one and only savior becoming a shirtlifter."

It was enough to throw him off, but didn't diffuse the tension that had been strung between us. Oddly enough, since usually backing Potter into a corner made me feel loads better. But that was back when we were children. I reckoned that things really were different. I kept my attention on the gargantuan flowers while I waited for an answer.

"I could ask you the same." It was quiet and light, his voice; I'd been expecting a bit more defensiveness, a heavier reaction. It startled me when he had none. Different, indeed….

So then I did face him. Potter was dressed in this rather magnificent costume—a privateer decked out in a sharp red coat with edging and buttonholes gilded and glittering. It wasn't very original for him, despite its opulence. All very Gryffindor. I did like his boots, though. They were brown and folded over halfway up his calf.

But by the time I reached his eyes, I realized that he had been staring at mine the whole time. I somehow managed to keep myself from blushing. Particularly since the green beacons of his gaze weren't buffered by the glasses he usually wore.

"So what is it that you want?" I asked. Probably more likely to get an answer than the question I asked previously. The first was just to throw him off the trail of potential humiliation. But I needed the answer to this question. I didn't want to spend more evenings sleepless, wondering blindly.

"Oh, I dunno," he answered with a sigh and a laugh. I rolled my eyes. I could've rolled my whole head right off my shoulders with the strength of how suddenly exasperated I was. First it fell through me like a sudden emptying of my insides before boiling right back in rage. Of _course_ he didn't know. This was Potter we were talking about. Maybe the best Auror in the history of everything but first and foremost the charge-ahead-plans-be-damned Gryffindor numbskull that everyone adored for some brainless reason. And there I was thinking that he had some ulterior motive.

"Well, if you'll excuse me," I said, rather embittered, "I have better things to do with my time than let you deteriorate my brain matter." I shook my head and made to stray deeper into the garden so I could sober up a bit before Apparating.

I was halted, however, by a hand around my elbow and a resigned, "Malfoy, wait."

"Wait for you to get a clue?" I snarled at him. "Sorry, Potter, but I honestly don't think my lifespan will extend to sufficiently accommodate the necessary amount of time you'll need. Why don't you get back to me next lifetime?" I didn't want to put up with this nonsense. After not wanting to attend this ball in the first place, spending a ridiculous amount of time wandering about like a hopeless waif then bearing the insufferable sting of self-loathing in the realization that I had blown my situation out of proportion—all I wanted to do was go home, drink myself into a stupor, then go back to my life before Harry-fucking-Potter had found his way into it. Again.

"Come on, Malfoy, just hear me out." I snatched my arm out of his hold, turned around and glared at him with my arms folded and my impatience searing.

"You have ten seconds to convince me you're worth hearing out," I stated. "Go."

"I'd like to kiss you."

_-To Be Continued-_


End file.
